Calefaction
by Broten
Summary: On planet Vegeta, an unusually warm summer solstice draws together two Saiyans of differing backgrounds and no prior ties. The resulting chain of events forever changes the landscape and fate of an empire. Adult rating for language, extreme violence, sexual situations, etc. This story contains male-on-male pairings. Feedback is very much appreciated.
1. Chapter 1

For all intents and purposes, Saiyans should be used to the heat. Their home world had been warm and so had the one they'd taken over for themselves. Comfort at the height of the warmest season presented a problem, however, even for the very height of the Saiyan hierarchy.

Two bodies moved almost in unison, though spread kilometers apart on the face of the red planet; an overgrown weed of a youth and a lone royal approaching his prime tossed and turned in their beds, unable to rest for the unforgiving scorch of the heat wave. Even the comforts of the palace were no match for the solstice swelter.

The Crown Prince drew himself from silken sheets and paced upon marble floors. At least the stone was cool to his bare feet. Through the thick material covering his wide balcony doors, he could see a minute sliver of moonlight. The vexing luminosity summoned his body forth; Vegeta thrust aside the plush, cobalt draperies to see more of the pearlescent glow. The full moon was at least two years away, so it was safe. . . wasn't it?

On the edge of the empire, at the very fringes of the red planet's habitable land, Kakarot stood, engrossed, outside of his allotted barrack. Despite the moon's spark, there was still light in his part of the sky. Vegamara was the closest sun at this time of year. Her rays cut through the heavens to deliver prosperity and new beginnings, which only felt to Kakarot like prickly heat and more sweat. In spite of his lack of piety, however, he'd gone with his regiment to the Temple of the Suns to place a diffident offering. Some of the few words his father had ever spoke to him were 'keep in line, watch the backs of the guys in front of you, don't ask questions'.

He could barely even see the stars.

Something about the moon, though. . .if only he could move where Vegamara didn't shine so brightly. His duties were over for the day. . .did it really matter where he was? Truthfully, Kakarot understood his absence would be noted. No matter. He simply couldn't bear to spend one more night in overrun barracks in this sort of temperature, not when the moon was directly calling him. He could almost hear her, in fact. Saiyan instinct took control of his body, something he would normally embrace only in the heat of battle on some remote planet, somewhere that his name didn't matter.

At the palace, the guards shifted awkwardly with the intel that the prince had left royal grounds. No one was strong enough, nor had the authority, to stop him, however, and no one dared say a single word when his power level was scouted jetting off toward the western quarter. There was not a doubt in Nappa's mind that Vegeta had neglected to don a scouter for the communiqué to even patch through. The prince was given to such behaviors of defiance and reclusion, just as the king had done in his youth; both members of the royal family were burdened by the constant swarm of attention and need that went along with their duties. Working so intimately with the royal family for seventy long years, Nappa understood the king and his son. He could allow Vegeta a precious while of solitude.

The rushing air was good for freshening the blood, but Vegeta was already privy to that fact. It was best not to be out on his own, more than simply for the heavy, judging eyes of the public, but the moon's placid beams on his hide inebriated him, made him envy the mongrel hounds that basked in the glow night after night. Nappa would snicker at him were he present, reminding Vegeta that there would never ibe/i enough, reminding Vegeta that what the prince truly desired was barred even to him, but. . .to hell with Nappa. To hell with everything, for the time being.

Kakarot stood atop the highest mountain outside the capital walls, glaring up at the moon with unfocused eyes. Vegamara bothered him less now that he was further to the west. The Blutz waves made him feel. . .less than sober, actually. He could hear his own labored breath echoing within his skull; this hypersensitive sentience caused a low growl to reflexively escape his throat when he felt another Saiyan near his peaceful repose.

Snarling in mid-air, Vegeta's tail fur bristled and his ki flared in response to the overt, unexpected threat. His brain activated after his instincts and he laughed; what sort of moronic third-class would dare try and intimidate the prince of all Saiyans? Such a foolish underling! Vegeta lingered above his wild-haired contender, hovering in the air with his arms folded across his chest. The tip of his princely tail flicked against itself, still tightly wound around his waist.

Kakarot knew he would surely die for it, but all of his thoughts were in a far corner of his brain to make room for the surge of hormones and celestial light; he reached above his head to grasp for Vegeta's boot and sent him crashing into the hard, craggy surface upon which he stood. A rough cry of outrage and ire emitted from the prince's throat. Hands formed fists and fell to flesh. Wild bursts of energy hit and missed, hit and missed; those in the valley below were treated to a sight much like a firecracker show, only who would do such a thing on top of Mt. Haricot?

"Idiot, no-class, son of a whore," Vegeta breathed roughly, trapped in the other Saiyan's hold. "I'll have your head for this. I'll have your entire division's heads for this. Which one are you even from, anyway? What's your name? All you low-class wastes-of-cum look the same. . ."

"Strong words from such a sweet little princess," Kakarot growled from between gritted teeth. His jaw was clenched as tight as his arms held Vegeta. The prince hissed, his tail thrashing strongly against Kakarot's chest. The robust scent of rage and shame twisted together and adulterated the younger Saiyan's mind, weakening it again. Kakarot jerked the prince this way and that, crushing his prey's throat beneath a strong bicep. "Oh, Vegeta, what's that now? Still trying to pretend your lethargic, royal ass could ever match up to one of your wretched little subjects? Still think we don't know how much stronger we've gotten? Here you've been strutting around your pretty castle while we've been off fighting and killing so you can-"

Vegeta managed to loosen Kakarot's hold on him briefly, and that was just enough for him to slip free. Spots danced before his eyes as he panted, trying to reestablish a reliable flow of oxygen to his addled brain. He lunged at the third-class, desperate for the upper-hand, but. . .the younger Saiyan seemed solid as a block of blackest katchin, completely impervious. When the prince finally managed to draw blood and make the taller man recoil, he stood back with his hands on his hips and smirked.

"You _dare_ speak to your betters in such a way?" Vegeta howled a laugh, head thrown back with wild abandon. "You know nothing, third-class, _nothing_. You know _nothing _of the things I have done for this—"

Kakarot surged at the prince still, hell-bent on spurring the insurrection that had been whispered in garrisons and mess halls and landing pads alike. He could feel pure energy pulsing and flowing through the prince's body, something he'd learned years before on a long-dead planet called Yurket; Kakarot knew the ki was at least close to his own. He had the upper hand in physical strength, at least, and recognized that it was feasible to exploit that advantage to conquest. Unlike the prince, _he_ had seen a thousand bloody battles in off-world invasions. He knew what it was like to tear the flesh from an enemy's face with his own teeth and have them watch as he consumed it. Whereas Vegeta's battle experiences were mostly practiced, controlled exercises wrought in King Daddy's iron castle, Kakarot's honed skills were borne of instinct and necessity on foreign soil. Being lesser than the Elite, his father once told him, came from _believing _that they were lesser.

Spurred by the promise of violence and the Blutz waves on his exposed skin, Kakarot let loose a feral growl that echoed off of the surrounding rocky formations and barreled his unyielding elbow against the prince's face. Years of systematic class oppression and learned abhorrence for that ruling class stimulated Kakarot's already amplified senses; his elbow and fist repeatedly collided with rigid, sharp facial bones of his victim. Blood spattered from the stunned man's face and onto Kakarot's. The salty-sweet taste of that stark red liquid threatened to be the undoing of the younger Saiyan. He stopped, still growling, and stared at his prince. One of Vegeta's eyes had swollen shut, the other was squinted of its own accord; numerous bones in his face were smashed and blood oozed freely down his neck and the front of his hastily-donned informal armor.

Kakarot had never seen a more beautiful, arousing sight in all of his young years. The longing to possess superseded that to destroy. He took in a deep, rattling breath, took in the scent of the royal's blood, drank in the anger and desperation on Vegeta's face. . .

And then he lost awareness of anything at all.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Notation + Disclaimer: I would like to think that it is abundantly clear that this is an Alternate Universe (AU) fanfiction. The characters, therefore, have grown under a different set of circumstances than in canon. In imagining this environment, I as the writer am burdened with the task of constructing believable examples of what character X would be like given the variables of A, B, and C. I repeat, the characters will stray from their canon portrayal, because anything less would be unsettling and give pause. **Taking all of this into consideration, I must again state that I hold no claims to DB/Z/GT or any of its creators. This is solely a non-profit piece of creative fantasy.**

"Agh!" Vegeta hoarsely breathed when a weighty elbow settled over his diaphragm. A smooth, dark voice murmured just over his earlobe. The prince attempted to swat away the low-class offender, but found himself too adequately restrained. What had happened to his supposedly limitless stores of power and energy? Booted feet dug into sand and loose gravel, preparing again to try and knock the younger man from his prostrate form. Again, Vegeta did not, could not succeed.

Kakarot seemed utterly unfazed by the prince's endeavors of escape. In truth, though he was the stronger challenger, he nonetheless trembled. The smell of the blood of a man he'd beat into submission and still held captive inebriated him more than the softly beckoning rays of moonlight, or was it some combination of those? Perhaps it was the compound of the pheromones, the blood, the moon. . .Truthfully, it made no difference. A shaking hand reached regardless for the other's velvety tail. His prince drew in a sharp lungful of air. The not-quite squeeze was both a promise and a threat.

A word died in Vegeta's mouth. Kakarot's sharp ears picked it up this time, the guttural sound from deep in the throat cut off by the tongue against the roof of the mouth; it was an 'L'. Kakarot chuckled to himself and nuzzled against his prize's neck. How adorable that the older man was intentionally keeping himself from calling Kakarot a low-class soldier again.

The prince panted once, twice, and then swallowed. "W-what are you doing? What. . .do you think you're. . ._doing_?"

More aware of the situation now as his senses returned to him, Kakarot rose above the supine body and smirked down at the mess he'd made of the royal's face. His head stooped only momentarily to lap up a trail of blood from the corner of the prince's mouth.

"Look at you," Kakarot softly spoke. "You look everything like your father, but nothing at all like him. How'd you manage to keep the secret all these years? I can see it plain as day all over your face. How did I never see this before? I guess they do hide you away. . ."

The body beneath the lower warrior tensed and a new fire filled his prey. Vegeta snarled and snapped at the arm closest to his face. "Whatever secrets I have, you _cur_, relate not to myself but to the Empire and its military operations. Too much for your infinitesimally diminutive brain to comprehend."

Kakarot laughed, but cracked one of the prince's restrained arms into an unnatural position. While the older man stifled gravelly expletives in his chest, Kakarot stroked his face. That arm was worse than useless, for the time being. "You know, there've been a lot of rumors floating around about why you got this age and haven't yet made a body yours. Heh. Who'da thought it's 'cause your body's s'posed to _belong_?"

Perhaps it was the smirk, perhaps it was the casual, confident shift of language, but Vegeta's eyes widened in recognition. "Fucking. . .you're _his_ rotten fucking offspring, aren't you? I mean, you all look the same to me, but. . ."

Shoulders back, Kakarot set his jaw and looked up at the moon for just a flicker of a second.

Vegeta laughed. "That's what all of this is about? You've restrained the prince and now we're to wait for him and his cadre of rag-tag brigands? You think he stands a chance against the divine right my father has to the throne? Father would never negotiate over _me_, boy. Give it up, already."

Kakarot growled, his hand constricting over the royal's tail.

"This has nothing to do with Bardock, Prince Vegeta."

"So you acknowledge that he is your sire?"

"Absolutely. I'm very proud of my father's name. _And_ what he's done."

In spite of his prone position, Vegeta smirked. "Ignorant, ill-bred troglodyte. This is why _I_ give the orders and _you_ carry them out."

With a hollow snarl, Kakarot bent the tip of the prince's tail against the joint, just the way he'd once seen his father do to his older brother. One of his knees pressed into the hard gut of the prince and Kakarot lowered his face until he was breathing the salt of the skin on Vegeta's face. Gasping in the aftermath of his pain, Vegeta literally could not speak any further objections. Kakarot watched the way the smaller man's chest and mouth moved as he desperately inhaled.

Kakarot licked his lips, then Vegeta's.

"I guess this is why they never let your mum out of the palace," he whispered. "Or why you've never been seen with a fertile-bodied male. Guess they didn't want anyone drawing comparisons. It's why they always put you in those weird clothes and armor. Make you look bigger. You feel so _tiny_ underneath me, prince. . ."

"Get off me!" Vegeta squirmed now. "I've had enough of this empty discussion about petty soldier's _gossip_. It's not a real fight when you've—"

"Already won?" Kakarot grinned against a smooth, warm throat, just barely nipping the salty skin. He quaked and groaned deep within the confines of his ribcage, a low and pure sound, the timbre unique to its owner, a rumbling purr following, a thick tail twitching in the air behind them. Kakarot pressed his lips to the spot still slightly wet with his saliva and felt a hastening pulse and a panicky gulp.

The heat seemed to engulf them, in those still and tense moments. Vegeta could hardly even draw a breath into his exhausted, bruised lungs. For the first time in his life, true panic released a flood of adrenaline and cortisol throughout his figure. The arcane reverberation connected to his body via the one above brought each and every nerve ending to a glorified state of paralysis and anticipation. He found himself actually unable to move against his captor. A soft little laugh tore through the muggy summer air.

"You can't even keep your legs together, 'Geta. You can't move away from me, can you? Couldn't stand to. Don't think I don't feel that," Kakarot rolled his hips against the prince's erection, eliciting a near-silent gasp. The swift removal of informal armor and finely-spun undercovering revealed a compact, silken chest flushed with a deep, shamed red.

"Say it." It was a command, and not a softly-spoken one. Vegeta gawked at the audacity.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" He still had his pride. Still had a modicum of dignity to hide behind, though it was quickly dissipating along with the sweat that evaporated from his hide. It was true that he could not will his knees to join, although with the other now settled between them, it would be a pointless attempt.

Kakarot rose just enough for a broad and practice hand to come between them. The prince jumped at the exquisitely painful grip, unable now to quell the confused moan.

"Say it, Vegeta. Say that you want me to. I don't want to have to take it from you. Look how much your body wants it. Since when has a selfish little prick like you ever denied himself anything?"

This time, surprisingly, it was the prince who growled. Incensed, Vegeta almost allowed a sob of outrage and bitter sorrow to wrack his form.

"You know _nothing_ of sacrifice or self-denial, you _worthless excuse_ of a foot-soldier. The only reason you're still alive is because Bardock took all of the sons that meant anything to him, were useful to him, and it would've been too much of a challenge to drum up all of the illegitimate specks of DNA he's got floating around this union. But I'll promise you two things, my _insubordinate_. One, you were probably not even named by him, probably given whatever meaningless title by a commander to have something to put down for your death record. Two, I _will_ murder you. In cold blood, I will slowly drain the life force from your very being. This I _promise _to you. You may take what is your right, but I would never ingratiate myself, never _lower_ myself so far as to ask the unclaimed spawn of the greatest traitor this Empire has ever known to fuck me."

Kakarot watched him with no expression, drinking in the aggression, restraining thrashing limbs, feeling his blood pressure rise. When at last the petty prince stopped speaking, Kakarot lunged his head downward, teeth clamping down on a corded neck. Clothes were ripped away at the bare necessity for contact, blessed contact that almost made Kakarot believe in the star gods and the moon gods and the gods at the center of the suns. He snarled and growled and tore delicate, refined flesh with sharp canines, final warnings to submit. Even with the rough and tearing penetration, Kakarot's teeth never left the prince's neat flesh.


End file.
